The Price We Must All Pay
by RubyMouse
Summary: Talia, a young woman from Rohan, starts on a journey to guide an elf, human and dwarf back to their home lands. Perhaps in this she will find her own? (Rated M for violence and just to be safe)
1. A Midnight Ride

**The Price We Must All Pay**

**Chapter One: Flight of the Archer**

She urged her horse forward, onwards, further and faster across the wide and open plain. Bare trees and prickled bushes raced past; out here there was nowhere to hide, no foliage offering cover only rocky crags and boulders which would give no protection from the goblins and their Wargs, who could track a man for miles. She could not get caught. She would not get caught. Turning in her saddle, she drew an arrow from her quiver, notched it, aimed and let it go. It flew straight and true towards her target, hitting the goblin through its ghastly throat, the grey speckled-white fletching protruding from its dark and mottled flesh. It fell with a thud on the ground and was trampled by its companions, riding their fierce and terrible Wargs whose eyes glowed with hatred and fur which was matted with the blood of their previous victims.  
"Go!" she pressed her horse faster, but she knew it would not be long before the goblins caught up with them, "Come on! We're nearly there, please just a few more minutes, please!" she pleaded. Looking behind them she could see the ever-closing gap between her and her pursuers.

The woman let another arrow fly, then another and another, smiling briefly as they hit goblin after goblin, knocking them from their beasts, though knowing that if she didn't kill a Warg soon they would tear her and her horse to apart, gorging themselves on their bodies, gnawing on their bones. She turned her gaze ahead of herself for a moment, her heart soaring at the sight of the deep ravine ahead. Rider and horse raced through the gully's mouth as she finally loosened an arrow into the eye of a Warg close behind her. It howled in pain, its terrible snout screwed up in agony as it collapsed onto the ground, creating a splash and rippling in the stream that forged the chasm they road through. But still this did not stop her chasers, the great creatures leaping over their fallen comrade, teeth bared and eye ablaze with the thrill of the hunt.

Her whole body shook in fear as she prepared to reach the end of the ravine. The high rocky walls surrounded her and looking up she could see the darkening sky and the moon which provided enough light for her to glimpse the silhouette of more goblin soldiers.  
"Curse them!" she shrieked. Making sure her quiver and bow was secured tightly around her shoulders and her short-sword sheathed at her hip she pulled up on the horses reins and guided it round to face the oncoming storm of fur and teeth and claws. Patting her steed on the neck she whispered,  
"Thank you, my friend, I'm sorry your journey had to end this way." and quickly dismounted hoping the brief moments the Wargs would take tearing her horse apart would give her enough time to reach the elves.

Sprinting towards the end of the valley she saw Rivendell then heard the shrieks and howls of the goblins behind her, eager to get to their prey. Already panting she pushed on trying to reach the last safe place in this bleak landscape. The elves respite lay in front of her, its many towers spiralling upwards as if trying to touch the sky, each point a magnificent beacon of ivory and light. If there was one thing the elves knew it was making art out of anything, even war. But the woman had no time to enjoy the view. Even now she could hear the goblins close behind her though it seemed there weren't as many as before. Maybe her mind was playing tricks on her or maybe, just maybe, she'd killed more than she'd thought.

As she reached the path leading down to Rivendell her heart leapt at the sight, then suddenly dropped full of dread as a monstrous roar came from behind her. If the woman had been able to understand the wolfs guttural snarls and growls she would have heard it's cruel taunts and threats it launched at her.

"_Little human girl!_" it spat, "_With your little sharpened sticks and little knives that dart and stab at us like a little eel darts out of its cave. I will bite you and rip you and tear you apart! Your blood shall be my water, the meat on your bones my meal! You think your puny little arrows will hurt me? I will break your bow in half and then you as well!_" This and other hateful things it howled at her and although the woman did not understand, the growling and snarling she heard coming from the fearsome beast, it was enough to stop her heart in fright and chill the blood in her very veins. She scrambled to her feet, backing away from the Warg, panting heavily from the long sprint she had run.

She turned, just as the beasts jaw clamped around her waist. The pain was excruciating, its teeth piercing the soft flesh of her side. The Warg raised its head in triumph and shook her from side to side, her body going limp in its clutches, like a ragdoll.  
"No!" she thought, "I cannot give up now!" not while she was so close. Willing her arm to move she grabbed hold of the knife on the right side of her belt and raised it, ready to stab the Warg holding her in its eye. Up close she could smell the thick stench of congealing blood and rotten meat coming from its jaws, hot and heavy on her cheek. She could see the spark of evil in its eyes, the vicious hatred that every being from Mordor had from birth. If she was going to die she would take that damned thing with her, to whatever hell came after life. A spasm of pain ran from her side to her hand and she screamed and dropped her weapon. The agony overwhelmed her senses, making her movement lethargic, her view blurred and the blood pumping through her ears deafening. Her breaths grew laboured and she could feel herself fading.

A 'twang' sounded above her and the beast roared out, dropping her from its maw, falling dead to the ground. She had just enough energy to look up and see an arrow sprouting from the Wargs eye socket, now a bloody and gory pocket of flesh. Turning her head, she saw a tall figure holding a bow approach.  
"Hornburg...attacked...twenty days past...you must..." her voice wavered and her body gave out. She collapsed onto the dusty path hoping her rescuer had heard her, understood the urgency. A dark mist settled over her vision and she welcomed the peace it brought with it.


	2. Bittersweet Memories

**The Price We Must All Pay**

**Chapter Two: Rivendell**

The woman awoke, suddenly aware of the absence of pain. She felt calm, at rest and knew that she must have reached them, must have reached Rivendell. She strained her mind to remember what had happened. She had been running...fleeing...then...the Warg! She scrambled up in the bed, but pain coursed through her body and she winced, a grimace set firm on her face.  
"I must be more careful with myself." She thought. Gingerly lifting up the covers, she looked down at her waist. From stomach to just under her breasts were bandages, clean white cotton, wrapped around her injuries. So she had been treated for her wounds. That was good. But how many days and nights had passed since she arrived?

Théoden and his army may lay slain; the Orc forces already marched onto Dunharrow where the women and children of Rohan lay unprotected. She must speak to Lord Elrond, persuade him to send his elvish warriors, to give aid to Dunharrow, if they could get there in time. Théoden knew that by the time her group had arrived at Rivendell the battle would be over but the elves were swift, much faster than men, and may reach them in time. The Orcs would need many days to recover, convene their forces if they had won and the time they spent looting and pillaging, revelling in their victory would take up precious marching time. But they would be relaxed knowing that a few days march away were vulnerable victims, unprotected. They could wait, the Orcs would be thinking.

That was her mission, passed on to her after the original messenger and the rest of her companions had been slain. It had been awful, the long, arduous journey and they'd been pursued from day one by an assortment of Orcs, goblins and Wargs. Two weeks into their travels they had been ambushed in the middle of the night. Somehow the two days ride they'd put between them and their enemies had been completely meaningless when it came to the Wargs and the fast, gruelling pace they kept.

They had attacked while they'd been sleeping, Pangborn, the young boy sent with them born and raised in Isenguard, a farmers lad in honest truth, kindly and good of heart, had been their watchman. A silent and well-aimed arrow had felled him swiftly and silently. If he hadn't have fallen on Jameson they would've been dead before they even woke. She shuddered to think of the massacre. There had been screams, so many screams. Jameson had shouted for them all to wake up and fought back to back with her as Warg after Warg charged at them. Five wolves they had killed that night and thrice as many goblins between them. He had been a good man. Even as Notchwood and Valis fell to the goblins' bastard blades and Malcolm disappeared under a host of Wargs he took her hand and mounted her on Saldrey, the messenger,'s horse. He had already fled, running off into the bushes, pissing himself in fright.  
"Go!" shouted Jameson to her.  
"I won't leave you!" she'd screamed back. But he would not listen to her. He'd pressed a chaste kiss to her lips and slapped the horse on its hindquarters, causing it to bolt, though it was a small miracle it had not fled already, like its cowardly master. The last she saw of him and her companions was his tall figure silhouetted against the flames, preparing to do battle with the multitude of goblins that surrounded him.

Tears trickled down her cheeks and soaked the bandages around her waist. She clasped a hand to her mouth, trying to stop the wail of anguish from escaping her. She didn't succeed. Huddled under the light sheet she let the grief overwhelm her. Her body was racked with sobs as she screamed and cried. She wept for her comrades. She wept for her lover. She wept for the men of Rohan, who likely lay dead in the fortress of Hornburg. She wept for the women and children in Dunharrow, awaiting news from the battlefield and those who would never see their fathers, brothers and husbands again.

She did not know how long she lay there in that bed, but it was a long time coming till the tears stopped falling and even then her quiet sobs still rang out in the empty room. It was large, though small compared to the rooms Jameson had described to her when he told of a Hobbit named Bilbo and his journey to Erebor. He had done that a lot, Jameson. When they were sat around the campfire he'd tell stories, sing songs, his baritone voice resonating around them. Another tear leaked from her eyes as she gave in to the sorrow yet again. When would it stop? How long till the pain of not having him near her went away? What would it take, she wondered. _Forever_. A voice whispered inside her head. _Till the mountains fall into the sea and the palaces of Kings are nought but dust and sand. Until you breathe your last breath and longer still._

It was hours until she had gotten her thoughts together and stopped shaking with grief. Slowly she sat up, trying not to pull at her wounds. Pulling back the sheets she carefully unwound the bandages that, now, had a few crimson spots dotting their edges. She braced herself for what was sure to be a gruesome sight. She was not wrong. Her pale skin was puckered and punctured, the rims of the holes made by the Warg's teeth in her body red and sore. She gulped and knew it would be many months till she could ride, let alone use her bow as she longed to do. How long would she have to stay here? How long would Elrond let her stay? She had heard he was a kind and gracious host, sympathetic and friendly to Men and she hoped this to be true in her case. Hesitant, she replaced the bandages, yet she knew they would have to be changed soon, her wounds dressed with herbs that aided healing. Eyes red and swollen from weeping she laid her head back onto the white cotton pillow and hoped the salt and blood wouldn't stain the beautiful fabric the elves had no doubt woven by hand. She had the weirdest concerns when she was distressed, she reflected. She fell asleep quickly, but found no respite in her sleep from the pain she felt, both physical and mental. Jameson visited her in her dreams, the fire burning his already scarred face until all that was left was a distorted skull, shrivelled with burnt flesh clinging to it, his eyeballs being fed upon my maggots.

She woke screaming.


End file.
